


Life, Death, and Somewhere in Between

by kiss_me_cassie



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-11
Updated: 2008-08-11
Packaged: 2018-09-14 19:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9198863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiss_me_cassie/pseuds/kiss_me_cassie
Summary: She was locked in a morgue drawer with a man she could barely stand, there was some… thing… outside trying to kill them, and all she could think of was how it would feel to shag him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for: Dooooooom 2008  
> Spoilers: 1.4 Cyberwoman, 1.6 Countrycide, 2.7 Dead Man Walking  
> Disclaimer: Russell T. Davies. Not me. Enough said.  
> Feedback: Always welcome  
> Archiving: Yes, fine, but let me know where it's going, please.
> 
> Notes: Many thanks to the 2 out of 3 betas on each part – Yanatya, PHDelicious and Caz963. Y'all rock (for various reasons :)) and make me a better writer!

"What do we do now?" she whispered to Owen. She listened as the slow, careful footsteps of the half-woman, half-machine echoed in the space just outside their hiding place.

He didn't answer, just pressed his lips to hers – hard. She felt a tremor run through her, not of fear but of something else, something that felt a lot like a hot, sharp stab of arousal. 

It was crazy; she knew it. She was locked in a morgue drawer with a man she could barely stand, there was some… thing… outside trying to kill them, and all she could think of was how it would feel to shag him.

They said it was common for people to react to danger and life-threatening situations in strange ways, but this was bloody ridiculous.

Yet she couldn’t deny it – lying atop him, his mouth against hers, all she could imagine was how it would feel to have him touching her, stroking her, entering her…

He'd barely broken the hard, silent kiss when she felt his hands fumble in the darkness for the fastening of her jeans. Within moments, he had the button and zipper undone and was shoving the denim down her legs to press his hard silky length against her. She was already so aroused that he slid inside her easily. The rhythmic rocking of his pelvis against hers caused her breathing to quicken and her heartbeat to accelerate as she came closer and closer to climax.

She was seconds from coming when she heard the click of the lock on the morgue drawer, saw a sliver of light shining through the opening, and then the beautiful yet terrifying face of the creature the Cybermen had created…

The sudden sound of a phone ringing woke her and she bolted upright in bed, sweating and still breathing heavily, not knowing if the shivers running through her were remnants of terror or arousal.

~~~

She stood before the large glass windows of Owen's flat and stared out over the city. On the surface, it looked quiet, serene, peaceful. But she knew that it wasn't, not really. For her, it never would be again, not after what she'd witnessed in the Brecon Beatons.

She supposed that explained what she was doing here, naked except for the blue shirt she'd snatched from the end of Owen's bed. She'd come because the idea that such man-made horror existed out there terrified her, and as much as she wanted to, she couldn't share any of it with Rhys. With Owen, she didn't need to explain - he already understood.

So she'd come and she'd kissed him and she'd shagged him and now she stood, nearly naked, peering out of his huge glass windows at a city that scared her shitless.

A blur materialized in the glass, marring her view. Adjusting her focus, her gaze swept over the reflection of Owen's naked body as he approached her from behind and stopped, a mere hairsbreadth away from touching her. 

"There's a crazy old queer in that building over there," he stated gruffly, referring to the view before her. "He has a pair of binoculars," he continued. "Likes to watch the other buildings."

Not just watching the other buildings, she thought, watching the people. Watching them, she realized suddenly. Watching as they thrashed about in Owen's bed in a restless, wild coupling. Watching as she betrayed Rhys with Owen.

The thought repulsed her.

"Have you ever seen him…?"

"Once," he replied, and his gaze, as he looked at her reflection, was concerned. She briefly closed her eyes, trying to block out his expression, but when she opened them again, he was still watching her intently. 

Something inside her broke. It didn't matter if some crazy old man was watching them through a pair of binoculars. It didn't matter if Rhys was home alone at this very moment, doing a load of her washing, innocently believing her to be down at the pub with her mates. Nothing mattered. Nothing but this overwhelming need to feel alive. And Owen made her feel very alive. 

Let the old man watch. She didn't care. 

Turning her head, she kissed Owen hungrily. He responded instantly, grasping her about the waist and turning her, pulling her tightly against him. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, tugged him even closer, and whispered in his ear. "Fuck me, Owen."

He paused and, for a second, she thought he would refuse, but then he was lifting her, carrying her closer to the window and pressing her back against it. He skimmed a hand down her body, pushing the borrowed shirt she wore open, leaving her skin bare and exposed to the night.

"You want him to watch, don't you?" he asked gruffly and she lowered her head, not wanting to admit that yes, she did. She wanted someone else to see them, to verify how very alive they both were. 

"Then let's really show him," Owen said, turning her so that she faced the window. His hands were rough as he yanked the shirt from her shoulders, but his fingers were gentle as they brushed against her breast and toyed with a nipple. His other hand trailed lower, sliding down between her thighs to finger her damp curls. 

"Yes," she whispered. "Touch me. Show him." Her voice was shaky, her words a plea. She leaned her forehead against the window, pressed her palms flat, and leaned forward against the glass, her legs splayed and inviting.

She felt Owen shift behind her, his chest pressing against her back. "Do you think he'll get off from watching me fuck you?" Owen asked. "Do you think he'll be able to see the perfect 'o' of your soft, warm lips as you cry out?" he murmured, his mouth finding a sensitive bit of skin at the side of her neck, his teeth biting down and sending a stab of arousal through her.

"Owen…" 

"Don't," he ordered sharply, the hand at her breast moving up to cover her mouth. "Don't tell me you didn't like that. I know you better. It makes you feel alive."

It did. As wrong as she'd been in abandoning Rhys, she'd been right in coming here. She needed this – whatever it was that they were indulging in – and no matter how much Rhys loved her, he couldn't give her this. Only Owen could.

He pushed into her then, making her gasp. Withdrew slightly and pushed inside her again, harder this time. She flattened her body against the window and he pressed even deeper, touching places within her that, even in her current state, she hadn't known needed touching. 

His body stroked hers, over and over, until she thought she'd explode with need, until finally, he lowered a hand to her clit and fingered her to orgasm.

As she came, her body spasming against his, she could almost imagine she heard the old man in the other building, chuckling.

~~~

She didn't know why she agreed to meet him at the pub, but she did. Maybe it was because she felt sorry for him. It couldn't be easy, living the half-life that he was. Maybe it was because he so rarely asked anything of her these days that she was reluctant to say no.

Or maybe it was because as much as she loved Rhys, he was just so nice all the time, and sometimes all that niceness felt so cloying. Owen wasn't the slightest bit nice. Or rather, he could be, but he hid it well, and the healthy dose of cynicism he displayed towards the world masked it to such a degree that she didn't feel trapped by it.

Whatever the reason, she was here, sipping at her third pint of beer and watching Owen flirt with the waitress. It was on the waitress' third trip past their table - when she winked at Owen and slipped him a napkin with her phone number on it - that Gwen finally had the nerve to ask him how his… condition… affected his sex life.

"Can't have a proper shag, but there're still things I can do," he commented conversationally.

 

She must have looked shocked at the blasé answer, because Owen laughed - a humourless laugh that chilled her.

"Don't look so surprised, Gwen," he said, his lips twisting into a bitter smile. "I've still got a healthy libido, even if my body refuses to cooperate." 

Her cheeks flood with color. She'd regretted it the minuteshe'd asked, but the dark beer in front of her must have impaired her normally levelheaded sensibility. 

She tried to backtrack. "I didn't …"

He shrugged. "Yes, you did. Everyone does. Even Jack. Maybe especially Jack." His voice lowered to a conspiratory whisper as he leered at her. "I could give you a demonstration, if you'd like."

There was only one appropriate response to that - a firm no, followed by a fake laugh, which they would both pretend was real. It would be awkward for a moment, but then they'd each take a sip of beer, glance around the bar for a minute and everything would go back to normal. He hadn't really meant it anyway. And yet, she found herself unable to follow through with her part of the script.

When her silence stretched too long, he raised an eyebrow at her. "Gwen?"

She cleared her throat, looked him directly in the eye. "Yes."

"Yes…?"

"I'd like a demonstration, please." Her answer sounded exceedingly prim, even to her own ears.

Owen laughed again, and this time there was genuine humour in it. Grabbing his jacket off the back of his stool, he slapped a tenner on the table. "Well, there are worse ways to get a woman to go home with you."

Gwen laughed with him, and it wasn't the fake laugh she'd imagined it being moments ago.

It wasn't until they were back at Owen's flat and she was pressed up against his kitchen counter that some semblance of sanity returned. 

She shouldn't be here. 

Owen's lips were cold against hers, and his hands, so nimble and talented, were cool where they touched her. She missed the warm, solid feel of Rhys, and yet she felt powerless as Owen kissed her.

So when his chilled fingers unsnapped the fastening of her jeans and he lowered himself to his knees before her, she didn't stop him. And when he licked his way inside her, she felt a frisson of desire that not even the cold could prevent.

But she knew, as her body came apart beneath his mouth and she shuddered to a climax, that this would be the last time they’d be together. This was no way for either of them to live, playing at some strange in-between. And as the last shudder from her orgasm faded away, she bowed her head and cried.


End file.
